Thirty-Four and a Half Predicaments
Page 96

“Yeah.”
“Keep it in your coat pocket. You don’t want to have to dig it out of your purse when you need it.”
“I hope I don’t have to use it at all.”
“Well, so do I,” he said, taking it from my hand. “But I’ll feel better if you’re prepared.” He leaned close and showed it to me. “Put the part that shoots the barbs pointed toward your pocket. Then all you have to do is pull it out to use it.” He handed it to me. “Put it in your right pocket and practice pulling it out like that.”
“Mason, this is silly.”
“I don’t care. Do it anyway.”
I put it in my pocket and pulled it out.
“That wasn’t fast enough.”
“Mason,” I groaned.
“Rose, trust me. If you’re ever in a predicament where you need it, you’ll be glad you practiced.”
I pulled it out a dozen times before he was satisfied.
“You better go, Mason.”
He looked into my face with an expression I couldn’t read. Then he smiled and gave me one last kiss. “I’ll see you tonight.”
My stomach twisted with nerves. “Good luck at your meeting.”
He got into his car and started to pull out. He’d wonder why I wasn’t leaving too, so I grabbed my phone and held it up to my mouth, pretending to talk. I pointed at it and smiled, grateful that he seemed to accept my excuse.
As soon as he disappeared from sight, I pulled my truck around the corner of the building. A couple of minutes passed before Jed showed up, riding a motorcycle. Once he climbed off and removed his helmet, he opened the back door of the truck and climbed in.
“I saw your boyfriend leaving. Complications?” he asked.
“Maybe.” I wasn’t sure what to make of what Mason had told me, but I wasn’t sharing this detail with Skeeter or Jed. “I’ll deal with it.”
“So do you have a plan?” he asked.
“Other than find Hattie, get my answers, and get out, no.”
“And you just want me there as backup.”
“It seems like the best bet. She thinks I’m comin’ alone.”
“Then we’ll create that illusion. Don’t worry about her seeing me.”
If things went south, as Skeeter said, I wasn’t sure how I’d explain Jed’s involvement to the sheriff, but I’d deal with that later. With any luck at all, I’d get my information without an incident. Jed was just my insurance policy.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Just five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of the burned-out factory. The outer walls of the brick building were mostly intact except for one section that was blackened and caved in. Weeds had grown thick against the wall.
Hattie’s gray sedan was parked in front of a door that led to the factory itself rather than the offices. Jed poked his head up over the top of the seat and looked around. “It looks safe enough. I’d go first to make sure the coast is clear, but she’ll probably be watching. Once she sees you go in alone, she’ll feel secure enough. After you’ve been inside for a minute, I’ll follow behind.”
I swallowed, trying to settle my stomach. “Thanks.”
He nodded. “If you need me, just call out my name. I’ll be close enough to get to you in seconds.”
“Okay.” I took the personal journal out of my purse and hid it under the front seat, then climbed out of the truck, patting my right coat pocket to reassure myself that the Taser was still in my pocket. After I slipped my phone into my other coat pocket, I headed for the metal door. There was a single rectangular window set into it, and sure enough, Hattie’s face was peering out at me from behind the windowpane.
The door pushed open and I walked through the opening. “Took you long enough,” Hattie said. She kept peering out of the window for a moment longer.
I gauged our surroundings—we were in a small foyer, opposite another metal door leading inside the factory. “I had to run by my house to get it.”
“Do you have the journal?” she asked. “The coded one?”
“Yes,” I said, although her adamance made me uneasy.
“Were you followed?”
“No. Do you have a reason to think someone would follow me?”
She shook her head and turned around and opened the other door.
“Where are we goin’?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
I could push the matter, but I’d find out soon enough. Besides, Jed was nearby, so I’d be protected if she tried to pull anything.
The factory reeked of mold and rot. Metal contraptions filled the warehouse-like building. There weren’t many windows, but plenty of sunlight spilled in through the partially missing walls and roof on the eastern side of the building.
“Ever come here before?” she asked, leading the way.
I trailed behind, watching where I stepped and clutching my purse tighter. The floor was covered in toppled machine parts and tree limbs that must have blown in from the outside, along with beer cans and bottles. “No.”
“Not even as a teenager?”
That explained the beer cans. “No,” I murmured, looking around. This place looked like even more of a tetanus trap than the metal pieces in front of Weston’s Garage, Daniel Crocker’s old base of operations. “Where are we goin’?”
She didn’t answer, just continued through the metal maze.